


Expertise

by boughofbone



Category: Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, I can’t help it I have a Type, So I love royalty, and this is royal fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 12:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20657630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boughofbone/pseuds/boughofbone
Summary: Byleth finds herself anxious about unfamiliar aspects of royal life.  Having been raised a mercenary with no concept of etiquette or fashion, she must rely on her noble husband Lorenz for guidance.  One shot.





	Expertise

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by shopping rituals of the palace of Versailles: because the nobility were forbidden to leave the court, merchants with fine wares would set up shop directly in the palace for the French nobility. While I'm sure Byleth has much more freedom, it is still fun to have a shopping day with your friends in the comfort of your own bedroom.

Jeralt Eisner taught his daughter many lessons throughout the course of his life. A great number of these drills had saved her; how to cut fresh drinking water from the stalks of fronds, how to anticipate a flank attack and the footwork to parry, how to live with nothing more than a satchel at your side. His tutelage was vital during the war; it kept her knitted together like a patchwork quilt of regurgitated hardship. When her knuckles broke beneath the strong blow of his lance she neither wept nor cursed his cruelty. She did not resent his harsh love when he set her bones and mended her bruises, the din of crass mercenaries shouting all around her.

Byleth realized, from the wisdom that only death granted, what a good man her father had been. That he’d done everything in his power to prepare her for a harsh life without root or constance. But fathers, regardless of how much they adore their little girls and want the best for them, cannot possibly hope to prepare them for every place life might take them.

He had not prepared her for this. 

She sat in the midst of a grand room laden with finery of every kind; airy cotton curtains hung loosely from open windows and danced in light summer breeze. The small stool she sat upon was cushioned with plush red velvet and sank down to delicately carved cherrywood, the product of a generational trade. High windows let in a grand amount of light, though the scent of oil from the evening’s lanterns still burned smoke silk upon her nostrils. 

Trunks with dozens of small compartments were opened before her like blooming petals, laid out on fine cherry tables for her to peruse at her luxury. Some carried scented oils and soaps from as far south as the former Adrestia reached, softly colored like the sands of it’s coast. Others carried silks from Dagda, fine furs from the deepest forests of Sauin, or accessories carved from bone. When the tops of tables and other free surfaces became sparse the attendants presented two trunks upon her bedding itself. These trunks contained women’s undergarments fashioned from the bones of great beasts as well as hand mirrors and laced fans. It reminded her of a buffet intended for eyes and not bellies.

The color that surrounded her was both overwhelming and intoxicating, and for a moment she shut her eyes with enough force to put spots behind her lids. Tittering, girlish laughter surrounded her and fragments of conversations lilted through the room like the fragmented memory of a song. They were talking both amongst and over one another, drunk on color. 

_“Do you think these would go well with my red buckled shoes?”_  
“Simply divine! How do you figure I’d look in this grand feather?”  
“Oh no, it would clash with your skin tone.”  
“Would you like a shawl in this color, Mercie?” 

Byleth almost forgot about the pressure being applied to her right foot until she felt a soft pinch at her calf. With a jolt she snapped to attention, meeting Flayn’s big peridot eyes. The young woman had been helping her try on a shoe, convinced that it’s high heel would make her look imposing. Byleth was ashamed to see the soft concern in her friend’s brow. 

“Are you alright, professor?” Within the confines of her own bedroom, her former students were welcome to use the title. It was only outside these walls when courtesy demanded _ Your Majesty. _

The other women did not notice the exchange -thank the Goddess- as they were far too consumed by their shopping sprees. Byleth was slightly discouraged that her discomfort was so easily detected by Flayn--she was usually quite adept at maintaining a veneer of neutrality. Not wanting to cause a stir, Byleth drops her voice. “I am fine, Flayn. I am just overwhelmed by the color and the noise, that is all.”

Flayn chewed her bottom lip and gave a slight nod. “I do not believe that they mean to be, but they are a little loud. They are just excited by all the goods around them, I am sure.”

Byleth nodded and gave a wan smile. Determined to change the subject she raised her foot from Flayn’s grasp, twisting her ankle this way and that to admire the fine heel. “It is a good shoe, though I doubt I’d find the opportunity to wear it.”

Flayn shrugged, eyes fixed upon the shoe. “Well, I believe that every lady should have a pair of shoes she only has the chance to wear on occasion. And the heel would make you...not so short.” It was Flayn’s turn to smile. “Speaking as a kindred spirit and no offense meant, Professor.”

Byleth hums in reply, still turning her uplifted ankle with distant appreciation. A grand knock at the door, pristine and somehow melodic, grabs the attention of all the present women. Byleth throws a quick glance to her retinue to make sure all attending ladies are decent--and while Annette is adorned with two clashing scarves and gaudy bangle, none are underdressed. The laughter dies in their throats and they turn to the door, attention thoroughly captured.

“I announce myself, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, and humbly request audience with Her Majesty,” her husband’s voice is muffled by the door. Byleth smiles immediately--his courtesy was always laced with adoration. 

“She grants it, you may enter.” 

The door sweeps open to reveal him there, all rich lilac grandeur, dipped at the waist in a bow before them. “The lot of you look absolutely resplendent,” he offers to their giggles, peeking upward over his lashes to view their disheveled mirth. Mercedes curtsies low as Hilda beams. “I hope I am not rudely interrupting.”

The ladies insist that no, he is not, and that actually, wouldn’t it be nice if he joined them? Annette quickly rids herself of the hideous patchwork scarf she’d been wearing, the flush of her cheeks rivaling the vibrant hue of her hair. Hilda gets so far as insinuating that she couldn’t _possibly_ carry her purchases back to her room before Byleth sees fit to cut through the din. “Did you need something of me?”

“Hm?” He lifts his eyebrows quizzically as he returns his attention to his queen. “Oh, my apologies. I heard that you would be presented with wares, and thought to offer my noble opinion. I’ve quite the eye for hue and shape, you know.”

Flayn, ever so sweet, gasps animatedly at the suggestion. “Oh yes that would be just wonderful, wouldn’t it Professor?” Byleth’s surprise comes across as a subdued shift in brow. “Lorenz seems ever so trendy, why not peruse the wares together for awhile?” 

Her husband answers before she has a chance to speak. “Ah, but all of Fódlan will weep at the sight of their queen once I am through with you. I too shall have complementary accessories, of course,” the last part he murmurs almost to himself. He idly brings his fingers to pinch at his cupid’s bow as if lost in thought before continuing. “We shall make a striking pair.”

“Of course!” Flayn’s voice is so saccharinely theatrical that all other girls in the room quickly catch on; Lorenz is the only one seemingly oblivious to her meaning. “So we will give the two of you some time to look at all your options. We’ll come back and see everything later, won’t we girls?”

It dawns on Byleth that Flayn is the most cunningly genius creature she’s ever laid eyes on. Mercedes quickly ushers the girls out of the room, whilst Lorenz apologizes once more for his intrusion. They assure him that no, he has not intruded! They were feeling hungry anyway, they had just been telling one another how hungry they’d become, hadn’t they?

Flayn brings up the rear as the girls file out of the room, turning to give Byleth a final impish wink as she shuts the door behind them. Byleth makes a mental note to buy her a ring of pearls as thanks. 

Lorenz had stood politely as they all filtered out with his back as straight as an arrow. The door clicks with finality and neither move until the sound of laughter gradually grows distant. This unspoken language of theirs had become more and more routine as they adjusted to the lifestyle befitting royalty; even their private moments could become matters of state. So they wait until there is only the sound of the trees rustling in the breeze and the faraway sounds of knights performing drills in the courtyard below. 

“I am very glad to see you.” Byleth allows her stiff-backed posture to relax, her eyes falling as if suddenly very weary. 

He is at her side in an instant, down upon one knee before her. She lifts her hands ever slightly so that he may grasp them within his own, his fingers brushing sweetly against the tops of her knuckles. “I had worried that this might overwhelm you. With our armies you are a fearsome thing to behold, but I am sure all of this must seem quite foreign.”

She smiles with relief at his words; of course he would know, of course he would understand. Once, while lost in the dizzying come-down of pillow talk, Lorenz had revealed that he’d taken painstaking care to learn every line of her face during the war. That he’d treated her emotions like a grand spell that only sound reason and continued observation could conquer. The way she melts into his concern now is proof enough of his proficiency.

“I don’t know what to do, and it all costs...an _obscene_ amount of gold...”

He chuckles at her worry, but not unkindly. “If the goods were not obscenely expensive then they could hardly befit a queen.” He lifts his ringed hand to tuck a stray lock behind her ear, grazing her cheek tenderly as he returns it to her calloused palms. “It is your responsibility to look resplendent. When the masses look to you for guidance they must see an example, a figure that both inspires them _and_ offers respite from their own common struggles.” 

Byleth focuses her gaze upon their hands, reluctant to make eye contact. Deep anxiety rooted itself within the depths of her eyes, and she could not afford to trouble him so. The man would detect it in an instant. “Perhaps you are right. It just feels odd to be enjoying myself and spending money when--”

“When there is so much to be done?” While he did not agree, Lorenz softly attempted to connect with his wife’s sensibilities.

Byleth deflates, her shoulders sinking inward as if crushed by invisible weight. For a moment she struggles to reply, squeezing his hands like an anchor. “Yes, there’s that,” she replies quietly. “It also feels wrong to have such a nice time when others cannot. It feels as if...as if I don’t deserve it.”

Lorenz cannot help but click his tongue in opposition. “Now that, my dear, is simply ridiculous. I myself cannot think of anyone more worthy of these comforts than you.” 

“The other girls knew what they were looking at, what they were looking for.” Byleth digs closer to the heart of her issue, and she can feel its roots twisting about her heart like a snare. “I am a mercenary; I’ve no idea what colors are in style for spring or which hand you hold a fan in to avoid insulting a marquis or--”

“Enough, love,” his words are a gentle shush once more. “Perhaps you have merely yet to truly understand your station. You are the Queen of the United Fódlan.”

He says this as if it is some grand answer. “Precisely. Which means that if I do not know these things, I am a fool with the largest audience humanly possible.”

Byleth feels like an even greater fool when Lorenz chuckles. A blush creeps upon her face, produced by white-hot shame. She had voiced her concerns to her noble husband, who had been accustomed to this lifestyle since birth, and he was laughing at her. When she moves to stand he stops her--pressing firmly downward upon their hands to keep her firmly rooted upon the plush stool.

“I am so sorry my dear, how abhorrently rude of me,” though his words are an apology, his mouth still bears a smile. “Though I suppose I was correct. You truly do not understand your station.”

She meets his eyes with a small huff. “So help me understand.”

“You are our _queen._ You set the trends--you decide which colors are worn for spring and which hand must hold the fan. All of your court, every noble from Hresvelg to Gautier, will follow your lead. It will then trickle down through your nobility like a waterfall to your common folk. You needn’t stress about what others find appealing--you must find your own voice through the fabric.”

His words drip with confidence and yet her apprehension does not abate. The laughter dies in his throat and only the warmth of his smile remains, clearly under the impression that she should see the err of her ways and be comforted. “If that is...true,” she hesitates through every word, approaching his logic as one approaches a flawed strategy. “Then it also stands to reason that the nobility could come to despise me for altering the status quo.”

“Is that not the inherit trappings of royalty?” He traces his thumbs in smooth circles along the skin of her hands. Though his smile remains soft, his tone hardens as if to drive home the conviction of his belief. “We chose you to be our queen. We chose you to lead Fódlan. We now reap the benefits of a peace you won and strive to maintain. Do not doubt yourself now.”

Little by little and bit by bit he was steadily wearing away her apprehension. With a small pang of guilt she tore her eyes away from his own to look at the range of goods that surrounded them. It suddenly seemed very silly that these things could overwhelm her when armies could not. Fashion was its own battlefield to be sure, but Byleth had always thrived among the throes of conflict. The trunks suddenly appeared very manageable, full of the fun accessories that her friends had squealed to appraise. When she turns to look back at Lorenz from his place on one knee before her, the swell of emotion in her chest threatens to bubble over. “You will help me, won’t you?”

His sharp eyes crinkle with his smile. A lofty chuckle rolls through the back of his throat like a summer storm, and she is eager to be drenched by the rain. “You married Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. I am your liege man of life and limb; I will always do my utmost to help you. I vow that I will never allow you to fall.”

Byleth can no longer keep herself from leaning in and kissing her husband gently. She feels him pull his hands away only to cup them both upon each side of her face, meeting her with equalizing pressure. He tastes like the warmth of spiced tea and his soft breath makes her dizzy. When their lips part and her eyes drift open once more, she finds his gaze dripping with adoration. He keeps her face close as he whispers “How do you feel?”

She answers by sinking into him once more--how could she resist? Telling him that she feels much better is a simple as peppering him with affectionate sweetness; she has little use for words. Losing herself within him was as easy as breathing, as easy as picking a flower or humming a tune. He proved to her day after day that she was the luckiest woman in all of Fódlan; how could one woman deserve such happiness?

It is Lorenz who breaks their kiss by leaning backward, appraising his wife from head to toe. He seems to survey her as an artist might appraise a blank canvas, looking between her and the wares scattered all around them. It was becoming apparent that Lorenz was envisioning her regal transformation. If he dedicated himself to this task as she thoroughly expected he would, she was sure she would scarcely recognize herself afterward. For the first time she considered this outcome with excitement. 

Lorenz gasps softly when he finally catches sight of her feet. “What are these?”

To be honest, Byleth had entirely forgotten that she’d been trying on heels. “Oh, Flayn thought that these would look nice on me. Do you--”

“Oh my love absolutely. Look, here, let’s stand,” he rises upright in one swift motion, offering his hands for her to grasp. She accepts them eagerly and allows him to lift her up until she stands before him. To her shock and delight her eyes are level with his nose. “Do you see? Look how tall you are, I needn’t even bend to kiss you.”

Byleth laughs at the silliness of his elation. It was true that she stood rather short and he rather tall, a fact which she had always adored. Yet to see so close to his eye level was its own kind of excitement, especially when he easily captured her lips once more to prove his point. He wraps his arms around her waist and for a moment all is calm. Then, in a grand sweeping motion he has dipped her like the peak of a grand waltz. She cannot help but squeal with delight as he suspends her there, his lilac hair falling around her face and tickling her cheeks. There is a twinge of pink in his pale cheeks and he smiles breathlessly. “You must have them.”

“Oh yes, I believe you’re right.” Her hands grip the back of his shoulders as he swings her back upright. From there he excitedly separates himself and darts to a trunk in three long strides, pulling out a cylindrical bolt of fine lace inlaid with pearls. The mere sight of the thing had Byleth already dreading the pricetag, yet Lorenz pays it no mind. Instead he turns to her with a devilish glint in his eye, enjoying himself far too much to be proper. “What’s that for?”

“For our summer tour of Adrestia, I was thinking our attire should be mindful of the heat. Lace is both breathable and fine, and were you to wear sleeves of this material you would look both elegant and regal. Pearls could be used thematically to celebrate the sea below, and we could make fine hair ornaments that compliment your incredible pallor.” 

She laughs again at his enthusiasm before requesting clarification. _“Our?”_

“I told you my dear, I intend to match.”


End file.
